


Whiskey Bottle

by tikistitch



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: F/M, i don't even ship this pairing, not sure where this came from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles runs into a drunken Abigail in the recording studio late one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey Bottle

**Title:** Whiskey Bottle  
 **Fandom:** Metalocalypse  
 **Author:** tikific  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Charles/Abigail, Nathan  
 **Warnings:** Cursing.   
**Word Count:** 1200  
 **Summary:** Charles runs into Abigail in the recording studio.  
 **Notes:** Not sure what the deal is, because I don't even ship this pairing. I'll blame Z.

 

“He's not here.”

Charles narrowed his eyes, surveying the darkened recording studio. It was an odd hour of the morning, but he wasn't surprised to find it occupied. He was intrigued, however, at the identity of the occupant.

“Uh. Who is not here?” he asked, smoothing his tie.

“You know who.” Abigail was slumped on one of the couches. He couldn't see her well in the dim light, but he could smell her breath from over here. Scotch. The good stuff.

Charles drew nearer. “Didn't figure you for a whiskey drinker.”

“You're changing the subject, manager dude.” She held out the bottle, giving it a little wiggle. The label flashed in the light. Yeah, the good stuff.

Wordessly, Charles grabbed the bottle. He wiped the neck with a sleeve, and took a shot. It burned as it went down.

“What did you figure me for?” asked Abigail as he handed her back the bottle. She coiled up, curling one leg underneath her, a serpent eyeing a mouse.

“Red wine.”

She laughed, throwing her head back, baring a length of cool, bare throat the color of a whiskey bottle. “Well, at least you didn't say fucking Chardonnay. That's shit's for pussies.” She took another gulp of whiskey. “Nathan's not here. Why don't you come keep me company instead.” She patted the couch, and gave him a wink. 

“Why do you think I was looking for Nathan?” The bottle lurched back up. Ofdensen tried to wave it off, but that just increased the wiggling. A little irritated now, he snatched it away and probably drank more than he intended. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Dude, who are you always looking for?”

His throat was burning. “We have some business....”

“At four am?”

“And why are you in the fucking recording studio this late? The boys aren't even here.”

That did it. The bravado faded in a second, and she was wheezing. As awkward as he was around women, even Charles knew what was coming next. Without thinking, he was sitting beside her, cautiously patting at a heaving shoulder. “There there. Uh, there there.” He measured out the touch, concerned that it might constitute anything untoward.

“It's dumb. It's so dumb.” She had her head in her hands, sobbing and sort of hiccuping, her back shaking. On instinct, Charles doffed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, squeezing her, now he had a nice thick wall of merino wool between them, just enough to keep her still. 

“It's the boys, right?” asked Charles. “What did they do?”

She looked at him. The sobs changed to a strangled laughter now. She waved a hand. “Oh. They're assholes. But you know that.”

“What did they do?”

“What do they ever do?” She pulled his jacket in tighter around herself, snuggling into it. “It's not them. It's not Dethklok. Don't worry. I'm not gonna fucking sue you.”

“Oh.” Was he disappointed? That was weird. “Then, what was it?”

Abigail flopped down and grabbed the bottle from the floor.

Charles grabbed at it too. They wrestled briefly. Charles won. “Don't you think you've had enough?”

“I haven't had half enough. Neither will you. Tomorrow. When those pictures hit the internet?”

“What pictures?”

The bottle was pushed at him again. So, that was the deal. All right. He took a drink. Abigail watched him intently, dark eyes bright. “My ex. I thought I was through with him. I had forgotten about those pictures we took. I really had. I mean, I was drunk. Like this!” She smiled and downed some whiskey, knocking the jacket off.

Charles grabbed his jacket, settling it back around her shoulders. 

“Charles, how am I gonna work with your guys … when they see? I mean, I'm already- I think.... I mean, I may have to quit. Resign.”

“We'll sue him.”

“You can't sue the internet. Don't be an idiot.”

“I will figure something out,” Charles assured her, this time taking a swig of whiskey all on his own. “I've help the boys out of much worse. People don't fuck with us for a reason.”

“I wish I could be that confident.” She was still staring. “So, I've told you my dirty secret. Now tell me, what's the deal with Nathan?”

Another swig. “What deal are you talking about?”

“Try again.”

“Abigail-”

“It's not as if you're a bad-looking guy. I mean, you're kind of a jerk, but a lot of chicks go for that. And, I swear, you're packing under that suit jacket.” Her hands were on his shirt now, deftly flicking buttons.

“Abigail!” He was still awkwardly holding the whiskey, and trying not to touch her. “You don't wanna do that.” Dammit, his voice was getting slurred.

And then he was falling back against the couch as, quick as a cat, she wiggled on top of him, pushing him down, ripping his shirt open.

“Abigail! Dammit, I'm going to have to get those buttons repaired.” The bottle didn't spill. He still held it upright.

Small hands were caressing him. “God damn, I have a kink for hairy chests.” And then she was bent over, lips brushing against him, and then teeth. 

“Oh, God.”

Two eyes were staring at him again. “Oh God good, or oh God bad.”

“You don't want to do this.”

“Why the hell wouldn't I wanna do this?”

“Because.... Because I'm holding the whiskey!” He brought up the bottle. 

She grabbed it from him and sat up, hurling it against the wall. It shattered, raining glass shards and whiskey on the floor.

“That was the good stuff,” he pouted. She was still straddling him, breathing hard, hair askew, his jacket slipping off her shoulders again. He reached up and pulled her down, pushing his mouth against hers, tasting the whiskey, feeling the heat.

 

“Did you wanna see me?” He knew the voice. Everybody in the whole fucking world knew that voice.

Charles opened his eyes, smoothing back a spray of Abigail's hair that had wisped across his face. Nathan was here with a stripper or hooker or something like on his arm. 

They were eating ice cream.

“You bring any of that for us?” croaked Abigail, pointing to the carton of ice cream. She was still wearing Ofdensen's jacket, but little else.

“No,” stated Nathan.

“Then we don't wanna see you.” And so saying, she turned her face back into Charles's chest.

“Suit yourself,” said Nathan. “Oh, and hey, nice pictures.”

“Mmm.”

Nathan shrugged. And he and his companion wandered off.

“What is that?” Abigail muttered. She raised her head again. “Is that how you laugh?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Mmm.” She snuggled into him. “I like chest hair. I have a real kink.”

“Your ex?”

“Yeah?”

“I'll take care of him.”

The head was up again. She looked deeply into his eyes. Into his soul. She nodded. “And then can we get ice cream?”

“Yeah.”

Abigail smiled.


End file.
